The Destruction of The Communist Theory
by Graysi
Summary: "Niklaus are you listening to me?" Klaus sighs. "No Elijah, honestly -" he stops short, like he's been strangled. Elijah turns. "What?" He's frozen, ear cocked to the West, down the witches alley. "Did you hear that?" It happens again, a scream, piercing the air, bloodcurdling and familiar. Elijah's face turns stony. "An execution" he concludes. Klaus suddenly stops breathing. smut


_I got an idea from the pilot episode of the originals in tvd, that when Caroline comes to New Orleans, she witnesses a witch execution like Sophie's. This escalated. I'm sorry. Embarrassment for life._  
_I don't own The Originals or The Vampire Diaries. _

* * *

She touches the woman's shoulder in a comforting manner and crouches down to level herself with her, to look her in the eyes, to personalise this. Decent, Caroline thinks, watching them. There's decency in people. The woman, clutching her rag covered bundle of a child, looks at the girl with eyes as pleading and as humble as an innocent, as a human. There are no mind games or dominance in them. No ethics or feuds or principles. Just pleading innocence, a slave trapped in the dark parts of a ship, a dog kicked by its master. Caroline winces. It's not a look that would give you hope in life.

The girl however, smiles at the woman, as big and as bright as the moon, like she's trying to spread some of her magic light to her. Her hand reaches into her bag and pulls out a plastic bag – and Caroline can smell its contents – an apple, a sandwich, some kind of meat enclosed in foil and the impersonal production smell of things wrapped in plastic. Not normal for a teenage girl to carry around. A bag of clothes follows. She must have bought them for her. Kindness. She finds hope in life again.

The woman grabs her hand, a stream of constant humbled thanks flowing. The girl seems to flinch from her touch but then grabs the woman's hand back, with both of hers and rubs them. Cold. She looks down the street they're on edgily and then, without a moment's notice, a fire blazes, crackling and throwing an orange glow against the woman's face, throwing shadows against the wall.

The woman looks at the girl. Different eyes now. Frightened. Disbelieving. Protective. She holds her baby closer. The girl assures her if there's anything else she needs, she'll get it. The woman says nothing. The girl promises to return, with more food the next day. She gets up and walks away, toward Caroline, without touching the woman again. The girl's face is bent, walking fast, heart beating fast, Caroline can hear.

"That was a decent thing you did" Caroline remarks as she passes, making the young witch jump and stare at Caroline with this pained panicked expression that Caroline feels there's no need for. She's just a few years older than her, a girl and unarmed. Perhaps 'vampire' is a bitter taste here. She tries not to look too bloodthirsty.

"What?"  
"The food. The fire. You didn't have to do that. It was very good of you." Her compliments don't seem to ease the agony in the girl's eyes. She only whispers:  
"Are you with Marcel?" Caroline frowns, smiling politely.  
"I'm sorry? I've just arrived in town. I don't know a Marcel." The girl breathes, relieved and she nods like she's preparing for the worst.

"Okay." She steps closer, whispering now, the green headband tied around her head makes her look older than her age, her full child's lips and brown chocolate eyes, cancelling that and Caroline wants to take her home and let her watch cartoons. She doesn't want this girl to grow up. There's bad things waiting for you out there girl. Go home to your mom.

"Then you don't know the rules. I'm not allowed to do magic here. You can't tell anyone you saw me." Caroline blinks. Her tone is a distressed mother, paying college bills, a war hero come home to a suburban neighbourhood.  
"What do you mean not allowed?" Her tone is argumentative because if there's one thing Caroline always hated it was people telling her she couldn't do something. But more than that, there is this persistent need deep set in her bones, to fix things for this girl. Stop her bullies. Kill her demons. She has a school bag on her back. She helped the woman feed her baby.

"There are rules in New Orleans" she whispers fast and urgent, eyes scanning the streets as she spoke. "You can't tell a soul. Promise me vampire!" And because she's frightened and because she's a child, Caroline answers "of course" and reaches over to touch her arm and the girl only flinches slightly. "C'mon, I'll walk you home okay? Where's your mom?" The girl's eyes rest on Caroline a little too long, stuck with awe from the realisation that Caroline will do what she asks of her. Safety eyes. Kind people. The girl breathes and almost shines, leading Caroline away from the scene of the crime to the brighter light of the city. They can hear the bands from here.

"Working, probably" she answers. "She thinks I'm at home. She hates me going out."  
"You want your independence" Caroline remembers climbing out her bedroom window to go to senior house parties and Halloween funfairs. She winces. What kind of life did she used to have? Her past is a stranger's story. She's nothing but a ghost now.  
"No. I want freedom. My mom's just being protective. She thinks every time I walk out the door, the next time she'll see me is dead on a street." Caroline stares at her.

"It's dangerous here" she states thinking of the vibrant city lights and the colour and the loud markets and everything she was promised there would be. There were no promises of city murders. She doesn't want that life anymore. She just wants the lights. Just the colour.

"For me it is." Caroline says nothing because there's something in her voice that has an aged suffering and is all too familiar. She knows that undertone. Dead fathers and best friends, and abusive boyfriends and being murdered and murdering, give her that advantage. It all comes back and she flinches violently. Block it out. Blackness. It never happened Caroline. Don't go there.

She doesn't press the girl but smiles softly at her instead, even though her eyes are scanning obsessively again. She wonders how many times _she's_ been tortured, how many friends _she's_ buried. She never thought her life would be like this. Where's her suburban house and adoring husband now? What naivety had she when she was young?

"What's your name?" The girl looks at her like she's never heard that before and she sees that horrible self-worth of a teenager in her. Too familiar.  
"Nirina." Her voice is like a lamb. Harmless.  
"I'm Caroline." They shake hands. Her fingers are so delicate.  
"How old are you Nirina?" because honestly, she wants to chastise her due to the lateness of the hour and the fact that it's a school night.

"I'm thirteen." Caroline's heart breaks as she remembers her own thirteen year old adolescence. Divorced parents and being the second choice friend is hard.  
"It's funny" Caroline notes as they turn a corner onto a long faintly lit street,"I'm only a few years older than you but you seem so young. Must be what leaving highschool does." Must be what being alone does.

"I'm not kid" she says fiercely, her angel faced pout and skater girl dress telling otherwise. "You wouldn't believe what I've had to deal with in the last –"  
She stops dead where she stands in the glow of the lamplight and it's not quiet anymore. They were waiting for her.

"Nirina Lacoste. Home late aren't we? Your mom'll be worried." He's with five others and two sit on the high brick wall above them, bored. Caroline's heart stops. Everything her mom ever told her about being cornered in a night-time alley way by a gang goes out of her head. She wants to grab the girl and run. Nirina however, has a different approach and replies to him icily, like he's another pushy guy at a club.

"I can be as late as I want coming home Marcel" she spits, disgusted. Her eyes seem to glow fiercely. Her hands are shaking inside her parka. "You don't own me yet."  
"Yes I do" he tells her. He's not playing games and he's not playing coy.

Straight face. It's a fact. I own you. He _tells_ her. Caroline can hear her swallow.

The boy sitting on the wall above them catches her eye. His expression is not greedy and lustful. He's not angry and murderous and not panicked and nervous. It's Tuesday night darling, he says with his neutral stare. We're going to kill you. Caroline steps in front of Nirina and they don't expect it.

"Leave us alone" she demands. Strong voice. Assertive. The man in front cocks his head and now he's playful.  
"Pretty girl" he comments. Caroline wants to slap him. But she's afraid. She knows what it's like to be tortured. She doesn't want to die. "I'll leave you alone no problem my darling. Go and enjoy the festivities in my city. We just have to talk to with our friend." She wonders if she would view the situation differently, if she were human, if she would see a way out other than death. Maybe she could outrun them but Nirina couldn't.

Her eyes bolt to each of his back-up. She doesn't think she can take them. The boy behind him must be 6'3 and arms like body builder's. On top of that, their faces are all the same neutral bored expression, easy with killing, except Marcel, who grins the prettiest smile Caroline has seen in a long time. She's disgusted.

"You want to hurt her" she corrects him, holding the girl's arm behind her, trying to get a grip so she can run with her at short notice. "I'm not leaving." And he's in front of her now, before she can blink and staring straight into her eyes. They blacken and consume, compelling.

"We've got business with the girl. Leave now or you won't get the opportunity later, I can promise you that." Nirina's nails dig into Caroline's wrist.  
"Sorry loser. I'm not a human. So you can go to hell" she bares her teeth and snarls "and I can promise you, if you touch her, you'll be attending the funerals for at least one of your boyfriends." Marcel assesses her, an angry glint infusing the back of his eyes and a playful smirk haunting the corner of his mouth.

"You make some good points sweetheart. But I'm afraid I'm going to have to risk it." And that's it, the last life crosses off, so she crouches down and leaps at him but he's already gone. She slams into his backup instead, who grabs her waist and pulls her down so she grabs their shoulders for support. Immediately she drops her hands like she's been electrocuted and reaches up to grab his face and twist his neck right around until she hears a sickening snap and the man drops his hold and hits the ground hard.

She doesn't have time to carry out her promise and claim his heart because Nirina's cries start and she whips around, by which time, the rest of the entourage have already pinned her against them.

Marcel is holding the girl off the ground by the throat, and even though Caroline understands vampire strength, the fact that he's only holding her with one hand outline his demented cruelty, his arrogant power. Where was his momma when he was growing up?  
"Let her go!" Caroline screams. She's ignored, even by her captors.  
"Didn't mommy tell you never to use magic in my quarter Nirina? You know that I always know angel. It better be for a good reason."

The pink glittery nails that embed into Marcel's huge steady hand make no difference. Her drawstring bag has dropped into the dust behind them.  
"It's none of your business!" she wheezes. Her face is turning purple and she scrabbles at his hold. "It's my right!"  
"Not in your lifetime princess."

"For God's sake, she's a child!" Caroline screams, kicking out unexpectedly at the man by her right. His kneecap shatters and she earns a slap after he yells out in pain. She takes it in her stride though, keeping her eyes locked on the back of Marcel's head.  
"She's not even in high school! Are you that sick?" And with that, Marcel turns his head slowly to catch Caroline's eyes unashamed, his stance and his hold unwavering: the essence of a forbidding man.  
"Unfortunately, _I am." _

"So angel, here's my thinking. You tell me what you needed to use your magic for or your momma's going to find the damaged remains of what used to be her pretty daughter at her front door." His other hand lifts to stroke her cheek with his thumb. She has no strength to struggle. "So what's it going to be?" Nirina's face is almost blue now and her breath comes out as a fast struggling wheeze.

"Go to hell vampire" she manages even though her eyes seem to be going out of focus.  
"Pity" Marcel pouts, eyes widening like he's disappointed. "Your mom's going to get a shock. If she even recognises you after this."  
"No!" Caroline gasps, trapped against the arms hard against her desperate strength. There's no way she can get to the girl. "Don't! She was just helping a homeless woman! She made a fire for her – that's all. You can't kill her!" Her own breathing is broken and loud in her ears as she watches his head, desperately willing him to let the girl go.

"Helping a homeless women hmm?" His mocking tone is not encouraging. But to Caroline's surprise his hand loosens slightly and slowly, Nirina's feet touch the ground. She coughs wildly, clutching her throat and trying to get as much air as possible as fast as she could. They all watch her silently like the situation is shameful. It is. But not for her.

"You made a fire for a homeless woman, did you angel?" he asks, quieter now and Nirina's large brown eyes look up at him now, scared and distrusting. But she nods obediently. Let me go home. He strokes the top of her head paternally and Nirina lets him, still staring straight up at him, like an abused wife being told how by her husband how awfully he was, again.

"Such a good girl. But you know" he goes on, conversationally now, raising his voice. "I don't actually remember asking you for your input girl," and Caroline knows that that's for her. "Because the fact of the matter remains" he continues, still not looking around, "that our Nirina still went and did magic without my permission."

And Nirina suddenly stops, her hands frozen on her neck, her eyes locked in horror up at Marcel. "And if your mom is teaching your brothers and you, not to listen to my rules, well we gotta send her a message don't we?" He shrugs and looks at Nirina like, 'what else can I do?' "Right?"

"No" Caroline whispers panicking, eyes flitting from Marcel to Nirina, still pointlessly struggling against vampire strength. But she gets louder. "No, no no NO!" Her yells drown out however, because Nirina's own screams have taken over and it's so desperate and innocent that Caroline is sure that everyone present is now even more aware of what a little girl she is because she's crying and pleading with him to _leave her alone!_ But even so, it doesn't make anyone stop Marcel, who picks her up and turns around now to face Caroline.

Nirina's eyes lock on Caroline's and in an instant, her heart turns to ice as the horror in this little girl's eyes pierce through her. And she can't save her, she can't save her life. And then a scream – a high pitched ragged rasping scream as her body contorts oddly and as she drops to the ground in a heap, Marcel's bloody dripping hand rises to present the group, with a small dark gruesome object, small enough for him to close him full hand around it, to hide it from view. Her heart.

Caroline screams, a long drawn out hysterical scream, like an echo of Nirina's and she doesn't understand the look of contempt on Marcel's features. The dusty ground clicks at intervals and Caroline realises he's walking towards her. She doesn't care. She wants to lift the body of the little girl, to comfort her. Her hair is covering her face. Her laces stream across the ground like she's coming undone.

"Shhh, shh shh shh" Marcel croons, tossing the little heart to the ground, purposefully so he can cradle Caroline's face with his bloody hands, making her cry out as she feels the blood stain across her cheeks, in her hair. "There now angel. I won't make you suffer so much. It'll be quick, I promise." He smiles sweetly at her and Caroline can't believe the nerve he has to look at her in the eyes with that much intensity. How dare he.

Her breath comes out fast and frenzied and she just wants to lash out, if it's the last thing she ever does, go out fighting, even just for Nirina. But she's still against the arms of his men and it's quiet in this part of town and she's going to die here, now. She screams anyway because what else could she do? Marcel's grip on her jaw line tightens – to break her neck she assumes. At least that would be quick, a man of his word.

She wishes she wasn't crying. She wishes she could stare him down. But she doesn't want to die and she doesn't want to die like this. She doesn't want to die here.

Marcel's mouth twitches up a bit like her hysteria amuses him and then, he's gone and the hands on her waist loosen. His body slams hard against the brick wall opposite making some of the bricks crack and shatter. A beat skips. The man standing as unyielding and as unforgiving as the city itself, is like flames, his hands like iron, seizing the fabric of Marcel's shirt, a deadly vice grip clutching his neck.

"_Don't touch her_" his voice is old and low and icy, like poetry for the damned. But it rings with furious authority. Two of the men head forward to assist their master but Marcel's eyes catch theirs and he shakes his head, with difficulty. The fierce motionless strength of his conqueror doesn't allow much room for movement.  
"You touch this girl, and I will kill your family." Marcel's eyes flicker to his men. "I will kill your friends. I will kill Camille. I will keep you in my brother's coffin for a century so you can live without them all. And then I will kill you."

The man's snarling oath almost sounds like it should be for a lover, a promise not be broken but he stares irrationally into Marcel's eyes an inch apart, his fury almost blinding him, a glint that's not far off insanity tossing that assumption aside. Marcel says nothing for a second. And then the pretty smile that Caroline saw before emerges.

"Klaus! Calm down, I'm sorry, I didn't know you knew the girl. Let's not get vengeful here, we both know you can get carried away." Marcel lifts Klaus's hand from his neck but the other won't relinquish his grasp of the fabric. "Relax!"

It's obvious he can't though. His hand pushes Marcel backwards, even deeper into the cracked wall so the bricks click worryingly about to shatter altogether, just so he can cause him pain, just so he can do something to show him he is serious about what he promises, just so he can let go of this anger that's building from the thought of _what was just about to happen._

"I will _kill_ them" he repeats menacingly, no mercy involved in the tone. One would think he didn't know the meaning of the word.  
"I got it Klaus. She's safe here alright?" He realises that Klaus needs a serious answer. "We won't give her any trouble." The demented look again. His hand is so tight around the collar of Marcel's jacket, the bones stick out prominently.

And then he lets go and he's there at Caroline's arm and takes her from them, holding her elbows so he can walk her out of there but she can't go with him like that. Instead she crouches down next to the dead child, forgotten in the dust and tries to lift her but draws her hand back immediately and makes a small noise like a bird with a broken wing.

"You sick bastard" she breathes but they can all hear. "You are _evil_. You poison the ground you walk on." Klaus's hand touches her back and it makes her gasp, like she's only comprehended what that man has done. It shocks him too. She's real.

Her hand lifts to move the hair from Nirina's face. Her eyes are open and blank. Dust sticks to her lips, which are coated with lip gloss.

"She broke the rules girl. She knew what she was doing." Caroline leaps to her feet and lands inches from Marcel's face, Klaus style.  
"Do _you_ know what you were just doing? You _murdered_ a _child_. She's had thirteen years. How many of her life spans have _you_ lived? You couldn't even let her grow up!"

Caroline slams her hands into his chest and he steps back, glancing at Klaus who does nothing. Let Caroline be angry. Let Marcel deal with it. He could do nothing to hurt her, not if he wanted to live. And besides Caroline letting out her anger, he is also glad she's so angry for what _Marcel _has done. It is not his crime this time.

"I have a city to run. There are rules here." Caroline looks at each member of his entourage now, accusingly, uncomprehendingly. Do they believe the words he's coming out with? How can they stand there obediently when the body of a child lies at their feet? She feels strange, like she's stuck in some pre-apocalyptic nazi era. Who would let a child be murdered like that? Thirteen!

"Do you hear him?" she whispers at them and when they say nothing she snaps, locking eyes on Marcel and tears at his face, gouging at his eyes so blood runs down his cheeks like red tears. "Do you _hear_ him?" He grabs her wrists, as she sobs once, now angry, though not for long as Klaus appears behind her in less than a second, pulling her hands away from Marcel.

"You can go now Marcel" Klaus says authoritatively, still holding her wrists to her chest, his eyes cold and sly from behind her shoulder.  
Marcel shoots him a dirty look and then repeats, "There are rules in my town. They are to be followed." He glances down unconcernedly at the body. "Or there will be consequences" he sums up, shrugging and leads his men out of the alley and into the city life.

Caroline is breathing hard and she's grateful that Klaus can't see her face and that his grip is so tight on her wrists. Keep her together. Hold tighter. There's dust on her lips, Klaus. She's thirteen!  
"He won't touch you Caroline" he whispers in her ear. "He won't get close, I won't allow it. I'll keep you safe." The oath doesn't have the same coldness in it as before. He's less furious, though still fiery.  
"I know." She knows.

She sits by the girl again now and slowly reaches underneath to scoop under her legs and lift her up to cradle her to her chest. Her heart is lying like a grenade behind her and she tries to ignore it.  
"Caroline." His voice is so different talking to her, than when he was talking to Marcel and it makes something stop halfway down her throat. If he tells her to leave the girl where she is she might snap his neck. And then she feels his hands under hers and the weight of the girl is gone and Klaus stands above her, obedient eyes and pity.

They give the girl back to her mom. Klaus seems to know how to get through the city unseen and where a gathering of witches huddle, chattering softly like prisoners, down a street full of closed up market stalls. They don't stay for long. She doesn't listen too fully to the short conversation Klaus has with one witch, a fierce dark-eyed full-fringed woman, but she hears words pass her by. 'Marcel' sticks out and she doesn't want to listen. They seem to accept the explanation which Caroline doesn't understand. If she arrived with a body of a dead child anywhere else, the community would not accept a two minute conversation as acceptable reasoning. But Caroline has to go because the mother's cries makes her bones go soft.

"Your city sucks" she tells him when they get to the front door of his house and instead of entering past his welcoming hand she collapses at his steps and curls into a ball, resting her chin in her hands.  
He hesitates and then sits right down next to her.  
"There seem to be a lot of… law and order complaints here. It wasn't my design" he tacks on. She probably thought it was. She probably thought Marcel worked for him.

"You should work on that law and order."  
"I'm trying."  
"Marcel's such a Hitler. You better go all United Nations on him." He laughs at her phrasing because she's still got Nirina's blood on her face and he knows she's still in shock about it.

"Who is he?"  
"Marcel? An old friend. I brought him up when I found him as a slave here, centuries ago. And turned him, a decade or two after. He's… thrived since I left."  
"Not in a good way, trust me. You don't want to thrive if you want what he has." Klaus eyes bore into her but she isn't looking. She's far away and sad and bitter now. He didn't want her arrival to his city start like this. He was thinking maybe a fireworks show and a cocktail party. Something classy.

She tuts following his silence.  
"I'm guessing then, you want what he has, right?" She sighs. A 'should have known better' sigh. He wants to be good enough for her.  
"I want my city back" he allows, intent on not being compared to Marcel though he's been wondering since the killing why Marcel is 'evil' and he's the 'United Nations'. He killed twelve kids too. "This was the city myself and my family created. Elijah's insistent that we have that again."

"Elijah's here?"  
"And Rebekah. We're starting over."  
"That means no daggers in any hearts, got it Klaus?" She laughs, the first time he's heard it since the graduation and her smile is just like he remembers. Her nose crinkles. He wants to smiles back but her words make him uneasy. Don't be Marcel. And yet…

"You didn't!" she gasps, understanding and smacking him.  
"Just once!" he defends, holding up his hands in surrender and dodging her blow. "One tiny little stay in the coffin, I swear, Elijah's out and about again, coffee in Amelie's, shopping at the French Market, everything's fine!" Her mouth stays open still, speechless, and Klaus hates the feeling he gets in the pit of his stomach, like she's to sentence him. She could. It's the feeling he got for the weeks after he killed Mayor Lockwood, avoiding her.

But now, she just shakes her head disbelievingly and laughs like he's a hopeless case. He'll take it.  
"You are impossible" she tells him and smiles out at his city like he forgot to pick up milk again. He doesn't remember this approval from her. Not that he doesn't appreciate it, but it feels like her standards have lowered. Maybe she's forgiven him. Maybe she's forgotten. It's been a long time.

"You're different" he remarks and she doesn't know how to take it. She doesn't want to disappoint him. Not that she really cares what a murdering power obsessed vampire thinks of her but she wouldn't want him to tell her that she shouldn't worry, he's over her now. Because what he said, the attraction from someone who does terrible things, for some reason, caring only about her, it's true. She does feel it. She doesn't want him _not_ to be in love with her, no matter what she feels. And somewhere deep down and hidden, she very much cares what_ Klaus _thinks of her.

"I'm a college girl now." She's proud. Maybe mostly because she got her degree herself. She didn't need him to take her anywhere, or show her anything.  
"You'd suit college." He imagines her dutifully taking notes in lectures. She takes off her hat. "You cut your hair." He sounds appalled and it makes her turn and grin at him. Personal insult tone. It was _her_ hair.  
"You like it?" she asks, just to be contrary because his tone doesn't imply that he likes it one bit. She likes that a few inches could make him look so stunned.

He buries the bodies of twelve witches in the woods. _She cut her hair._

"It's nice. It's different." Her smile is the one the girl makes when she's told she's pretty for the first time. He doesn't like it different. She knows that.  
"Thanks." Sarcastic.

She can't tell if it's just him or because it's _her_ or if it's just vampire behaviour to not like change. Either way she doesn't want him to be contained or comfortable. She liked it when he wanted her and she was the contained and the comfortable. She doesn't want that to change either. Don't not be in love with me.

She'd be adamant that she must have lost something, the thing that made him look at her the way he did, like it's _her_, like it can't be anyone else _but_ her, and she'd spend the next decade searching for it. She doesn't know what it is now. Elena was only ever blood to him and Bonnie was just angry. An obstacle with dark magic. There was no lure there for obvious reasons. Even surpassing her friends, he's had years, decades, centuries, - a millennium of women. She doesn't know what she has.

She can't find it. Otherwise she would have lit it up and sparked the heavens with it, calling doe eyed boys to her feet, Klaus in the lead. A mermaid calling sailors. She'll drown most of them, because she can, because they came. Maybe she'll keep one. She heard a story once, that man could stay alive underwater if they were kissed by a mermaid.

She'd choose one to save. One to kiss.

Klaus' lips smile gently and his eyes are trained on her like her silence is the most interesting conversation he's had in weeks. Perhaps it is. Unless he likes the murderfilled city. Maybe he does.

She doubts it though. There's always a reason, even if the reason is a backhanded half-hearted reach from a losing height, desperate and unstable, no solid ground.

Jealousy. Bitter vengeance. They didn't wash so easily. But he wouldn't just kill a child.

"How's the 'food, music, art, culture' down this neck of the woods?" Quoting. It makes him smile. Embarrassed. But also not at all. She came, after all. This is _his_ neck of the woods. His castle. She's here.  
_"Terribly_ good. You must see it. The Galerie Royale has such beautiful works. Or Windsor's." Caroline rolls her eyes, amused. Art. Of course. Maybe that's what 'genuine beauty' meant: Art. Culture: Art. Even food or music could apply with those obscure contemporary exhibitions. It all comes back to art. She wants to buy him a canvas and paints, just to see what his face would look like.

"So, since you're like a billion years old are you going to be like those old people who hate all contemporary art, only like a hundred times worse?" He looks offended. There's a smile underneath though. An excited glint sparkling his eyes, like a hunter ready for the chase. He likes the fight. It's what's _them_.

"I'm not so biased Caroline. Contemporary art can be gorgeous. Elijah says abstract work is my best." Her smile threatens to overwhelm. She likes that he mentions Elijah. That he quotes him. That he values his opinion. Not so arrogant. Not so selfish.

"So if I were to take you to see white canvases with black splatters over them, that were called… The Change Of Capitalism Since Marx's Time, you'd be game?"  
"On the contrary, The Change Of Capitalism Since Marx's Time is one of my favourite pieces of works. Exquisite splatters." She laughs. But also, he lit up when she mentioned 'If I were to take you.' Of course he'd be game. They can go right now.

"You paint much?" She hopes for a yes. He's hardly the devil when he's a brush in his hand. Paint splatters in his hair.  
"I just finished an oil painting yesterday. It's called 'The Destruction Of The Communist Theory.' She looks up. "Not really." Grins.  
"Can I see it?" Can I come inside?  
"Certainly." Whatever you want.

It's pretty. Abstract again. Very bright, vibrant. Different to his other pictures she's seen.  
"What _did_ you call it?" She's never seen him paint with red. Was it meant to be blood? Or love.  
"Redemption." It makes her smile. His honesty or what the word could imply.  
"It's striking." There's a lot of gold in it, like old pre-renaissance paintings. "It's like royalty."

He likes that. She can tell he does.

He glances at her from the corner of his eye. Watching his painting. She's not really though and he wonders why she's here. Is this her, 'turning up at his doorstep?' Will she stay?

"Are you staying in the city?" Next best thing.  
She is. A room booked overlooking a busy street. All the better to see his culture.  
"No. I'm just passing through. I'm going to California. Checking out some schools." No she's not. She wants to sound alive. Educated. Travelled. Not staying in his city for a week. And anyway, she knows what he wants to ask her. She lets him.

"We've got room here." That isn't so out of order right? Just a gentleman's offer. The way he's staring isn't gentlemanly. He tries to prepare to get knocked down, as usual. _I used to. When I thought he was worth it._ Am I worth it now Caroline? She doesn't look like she remembers that year at all.  
"Then I'm staying in the city." You are worth it.

She can't look in his eyes because she knows how damn proud of himself he looks. Though when she does turn to him, his face is blank masking. Only his eyes really pride themselves. He's good. But she can still call him out, so not so good. Rebekah was like that too, her heart hanging off her sleeve. She's never really met Elijah but perhaps it's how they were all raised. They won't show it but they can't hide it. An Original trait.

"Then follow me love."

That love tacked on the end. He hasn't called her that since now. She hasn't heard it in a while. Love. If circumstances were different, the sentence would sound _other_ to her. Follow me love. Follow me darling.

Her room is too large. She finds it ridiculous how he handles his wealth - rubbing it in and using it up, lavishing everything he bought almost as if to mock poor immigrant workers. Such an old arrogance, a white slave owner's vanity, centuries before. Maybe it wasn't all Klaus, just old lessons he learned. Elijah and Rebekah would probably be the same again. Would she too favour American styled neighbourhoods and converse shoes in centuries to come? She doesn't like to think that far ahead.

"It's a little small." He has to check if she's joking or not. In the 1700's perhaps she wouldn't have been. She flicks through the records by the ensuite door. Kol's collection. He loved music. Klaus couldn't just throw away a 150 years worth of his little brother's collection. It makes Rebekah cry.  
"I'll leave you to settle in" he should say. Gentleman. Don't be Marcel. But it's been years since her heeled boots and daring gaze and blonde tresses. He misses the length. She wears a ring on her finger. It's on her right hand. He breathes easy.

"How's Tyler finding freedom?" he enquires, the words not as conversational as he hoped. Are you still with him? Did he give you that ring? Take it off. I'll give you a thousand more. She pauses, halfway through the Beetles era. Aretha.

"I wouldn't know." Her voice is tight and controlled. The Supremes.  
"What did he do?" he sounds bitter and just like Matt when she told him. She sighs. Don't talk about it. Talking about Tyler to Klaus is probably the last thing on her list of 'Fun Things To Do In New Orleans. She'd go to his art galleries now.

"Nothing."  
"Yes he did -"  
"No. He did nothing. He didn't come home. He didn't come back. I don't want to talk about it. It was years ago. It's done."  
He'll kill him. No. Don't be Marcel. She's down to the 50's now. Sinatra. Head down. Not looking at him. He'll _kill _him.

She hasn't said much about college or Mystic Falls or her own life. He's listed restaurant names and art exhibitions as they walked through the city streets. Described singers and dancers in New Orleans festivals that come over from Europe, as they walked down his old stone lane. Told her about when Rebekah crashed Elijah's Alvis into the garden pond, as they crossed his garden. He pointed out landmarks on the way home, some that he built. A fountain. The architecture of three old buildings. Perhaps subconsciously he just wanted to entice her, fulfill his promise of culture and beauty. Stay in my city. Meanwhile her stories of home, even of college stayed quiet and still, a girl waiting in the shadow of drunk nighttime strangers: don't notice me.

He's staring and she can feel his eyes boring into the back of her head, trying to figure out her body language, her past her secrets, all from the backview of her bobbed hair.  
"How_ did_ I leave Mystic Falls?" he asks slow and frustrated that he can't figure it out himself.  
"Nothing's changed. If you're expecting us to have fallen apart without original vampires, you'll be disappointed. Katherine's human now, you'll be delighted to know. ...Matt had a great time with Rebekah." Her explanations are incomplete and discontinuous. Missing a puzzle piece. Elvis. Buddy Holly. It's just avoidance tactics.

"What happened there?" So much bitterness for such a young vampire. _Something_ happened. She whirls around, vampire speed and then freezes so uniform, the ideal marine. The look she gives him makes him dread and maybe that expression has been on her face for a long time. Little Richard drops to the floor. She can't not say it anymore.

"Bonnie died." No. Her voice is like snowflakes, fragile beyond belief. He's afraid of her. He's afraid of that pain she's got hidden inside. He can't fix this.  
He _knows_ what this means to her. She killed twelve witches. She didn't regret it for a second. Bonnie's dead.

Her gaze hollows him out and glitters wildly. Her breath is crazed and she won't stop looking at him for one second. He'll show her the world. _No._ Just bring back her best friend. He can't do it. That's what she says. With that piercing look. You cannot do what I need the most. Accusations. He swallows. I'm sorry.

"Caroline." It's a pointless sentiment but it helps. She forgets sometimes. Without Elena or Bonnie or Tyler. She forgets that. Who would she be? But it's true. She's still Caroline without them. She doesn't move and he has to step closer to her even if he's afraid. Forget his father. The look in her eyes would laugh in his face.

He doesn't know where to stop. She won't say a word and she won't look away. He has to touch her, it's not optional. Even if he gets rejected, disgusted expressions and snatched hands. He has to take that because her eyes are not even sane.

"I can make it go away." She knows what he means. She knows he just wants to help. It doesn't stop her look of disgust. She can't disappear. He can't erase that. He doesn't pursue it.

A hand. He takes it. He's scared to take more. He could have hit her, could have beaten her, broken bones for years, played mind games, torturing for decades. Her eyes are daggers. Her breath is drowning. _You did this. _He didn't.

But he wasn't around when she died. Was it just as bad? Tyler never came back for her. He'd never had left her like that, if he'd known. But he still did leave though didn't he? Her eyes certainly say that. Maybe they don't. He's afraid.

"Bring her back."

Her command is so childlike it hurts. She twines her fingers with his, so hard, blackmailing him, on the verge of breaking his bones. He'd let her. He knows she'll let go when he disappoints her. He wants to make it better for her, maybe more than she knows. He's an original! _Worthless_. Anything, everything flashes in his mind. Whatever she wants. His jaw tightens. He'll get it.  
Marcel. Elijah. Rebekah. Witches. Devina? Maybe. He doesn't know. He can't promise her anything. That would be suicide, to cause _that_ disappointment.

"I_ can't_."

He's too apologetic. She _knows_ he can't. But he'll do anything not to say to those words. His voice is low and almost hoarse. Please don't make me say it.

"I'm _sorry_ Caroline."

She kisses him, hard and frantic, the hand not twined with his grasping the base of his hair. He steps once back, surprised and it gives her encouragement, that she can surprise him. This is _her_ game. College was just Grief School in the end, after Bonnie, without Tyler. Elena is Damon's now and Damon is a snake. She wants any other life. She wants Klaus.

She takes advantage of his false footing and walks him back to the wall. The noise his back makes slamming against it sets her on overdrive and she wraps her arms around his neck, tasting every inch of his caught off guard mouth, owning him. She wants to exploit him, even if that's an impossibility. She wants him to remember her. Maybe then _she'll_ remember her, what she used to be. Now, she's so suddenly alone that it leaves yesterday's laugh still traced onto her lips and a stinging echo of something that's gone.

He pulls away first. Holds her face. Strong hands. She feels less of a ghost.

Her eyes are unapologetic. She _knows_ he can't bring Bonnie back. But he hesitated long enough to try think of a way. It's impossible. He still tried.

"Caroline." He's looking at her again, like it's _her_, like it's not real. It's real. He's confused. Not in control. She likes it that way. It's _her_ game.  
"Shut up" she tells him and it sounds like she's begging him. If her can't save her now, she's going to have to destroy herself. Running away. Sleeping with strangers. Never staying sober. A Stefanesque murder spree. Flipping the switch. She can't save herself anymore. That was an old party trick.

She jumps up to wrap her legs around his waist and he catches her obediently. Her hands hold each side of his face and she waits now for him to kiss her. Her eyes are daring, almost angry. She won't show hesitance. If he won't kiss her back, then he'll have sentenced her to to walk down a damaged road. She has nothing to left to be embarrassed for. She wants him. Don't not be in love with me. I don't want to be a ghost.

As much as he hates her rejection, there's no way she could handle his. Not now. There's blood on her face for Christ's sake. Bonnie's dead.

And then it clicks it his eyes. She means it. She can tell the precise moment when they light up and hunger, the tiger before devouring. He flips them around, a flash of bodies, too quick to even be an event and then it's her back slamming against the wall. His lips on her neck, frantic, desperate. She gasps heavily, half aroused, half relieved he didn't reject her.

"Caroline." It's a pointless sentiment but now her breath comes out heavier, less controlled. She tightens her legs around his waist. He presses her body harder into the wall. There is no such thing as space. He meets her lips now and she pulls his jaw closer. You're mine. His hands grip her waist hard enough to bruise. You're _mine_.

His hands slide up her back, under her sweater. She has to outdo him. She reaches down and tears it over her head. He won't let her fall. She wears a black lace bra, a balconet, something from a different era. She knew she was going to his city. She prepared, just to be sure. She hadn't forgotten his stare.

He stares now, the hunger almost a glow and his kisses covering her chest. His fangs are exposed and he growls, low in his throat. She can't tell if that's the vampire or the werewolf. Just the hybrid. Just Klaus. Her hybrid. The possessive adjective falls tauntingly into place. She claws into his shoulders to make sure he knows, but now he freezes, staring at her, teeth at her chest. His eyes are black and warm as fire. Unapologetic and hungry. His has two sets of fangs. They draw back into his mouth and the blue comes back to his eyes, humbling him. He looks like a boy now.

"Caroline. I wouldn't" he reassures, sounding panicked, trapped in her eyes like he's caught out. He's bitten her before. He doesn't want her think he would now. Don't be Marcel.

The angry fire in her burns out. She looks at the boy, frozen and apologetic, staring up at her.. He's not a vampire now. He's just a man who doesn't want to hurt her. Don't be afraid of me. _Don't worry love. You know I'd never hurt you. _

She blinks, caught off guard. He's wanted this for years. And now he just looks at her guiltily. Whatever she wants, he'd give her. She wants_ him_. She wants to love him. She wants to take away his hesitance, let him know she's not afraid of him, she's not angry at him. Maybe she still is. She can't feel any of it now. Her own gaze turns devilish and consuming because now it's not about saving her or anger or petty desire. It's just him.

"_I_ would" and she bites down on his neck, an animal. She wants _him_. She makes his breath get heavier. She makes the fire in him ignite and consume. A room of flames. There's no escape.

And now she's lying on the bed and he's kissing her chest, down down to where her leggings start. He would have pushed her to the floorboards and had her then. But it's _Caroline. _Her head rests below the pillow. He kisses every inch of her stomach with a hunger of a man who's not even for weeks. His hands slide up her waist and holds her breasts, gently caressing. The party outside has quietend. Laughs. Clinking drinks. Most have gone home. The only real noise is their heartbeats, and the broken soundtrack of their breathing, loud in their ears, fast and urgent.

She's had enough of his devotion. She wants all of him. She sits up and pushes him off her. She can see him flinch and freeze like he's done something wrong. Maybe he's always on alert for that. All he knows is her rejection. She doesn't want it to be like that. She grabs the hem on his shirt and yanks it up, trying to reassure him. His hands pull it over his head immediately and obediently. He takes her waist again but she's not done and pulls him toward her with his belt buckle. She snaps it off. Obedience. They're off. And hers. He kisses down her legs when he does.

Their clothes scatter about the room and then he's there, hovering above her, his black eyes inches away from her face and realising what's going to happen now. But he can't do this. He's always on alert and he's scared of her. Of her pain. What if he can't fix her? And after months of her contempt and her hatred for him, it would feel like he forced her. She _couldn't_ be okay with this. It would just be rape then.

He doesn't want to tell her, after his determination to save her, whatever she wanted. But she knows he can't. Besides, it's her game.

She pushes him down and straddles him instead. He might have smiled, a raw edged feisty grin. Caroline. You're here. But instead he looks directly at her, waiting and apologetic that it has to be her to do this. But it does. There are rules here even if they were never set out. His eyes are large, and full dark like an eclipse. Lustful. She's real. He's humbled. This girl is actually here, with him.

"You came to my city" he smiles and she knows he's been waiting to say it. What a time to pick for boasting. "I was waiting for you. You took a while."  
"You said it might take a century or two" she reminds.  
"I know. And I'd still wait that long. But I didn't want to." His smile drops because he wants her to know he means it. She knows he does. His gaze tells her so.

She drops her arrogance, her confidence now. Because he's Klaus. _Klaus. _This man. And it would feel like being with a storybook character, a celebrity, a legend, because he's a reputation and a past before her. The Original Hybrid. But his dark gaze is vulnerable and he's just Klaus. She touches his jaw. It stops his alertness some. He twines her hands with his again. It lessons her anxiety.

She stares him down as she slides, so slowly, down onto him and if it's possible, his eyes blacken even more. They consume her. She's hot as he slides into her. His breathing quickens. She loves that she can do that. What original hybrid? That's Klaus.

Her hands press flat on his palms, feeling his skin, hot and _there_, -real. It's a strange thought that after years apart, this original hybrid is here with her, he's waited for her, he loves her.

He's inside her. She's so wet. It's an extraordinary thing to understand, how together they really are. She's hot around him. She can feel him _there, _hard and solid and still, waiting. The waiting, the tension, his black gaze, makes her clench up and he tries not to make a sound but she hears it, deep down in his throat. She wants him. She wants him to want her. Don't not be in love with me. She moves.

At first it's just happening. They can process it. They watch it. There's disbelief and a sense of awe in the room. This is what he's always wanted. Klaus and Caroline. It's happening. Their eyes are locked, blue ice on black fire. They're making love, now, right now, together. Caroline and Klaus.

"I _want _you." She wants to take away his alert protectiveness. This is hardly rejection is it? But it wakes him up and he hold her hands tighter. It's just them now. It's how it was meant to be. Tyler and loyalties and common enemies were just obstacles to this. Hayley and vengeful murders were just distractions. The speed quickens. The desperation climbs. Their rhythm could be in line with Klaus's pulse. "Klaus. I want _you_."

He leans up to kiss her urgently and she meets him halfway, pushing his head back down, keeping him prisoner. He matches her; his hands pull hers, making her stay there. Their foreheads touch and she feels his breath hot and fast at her mouth. He doesn't kiss her. But she can feel him there, so present. He whispers things to her.  
"I waited for you. I'd wait another millennium if that's what it took. I waited for you before you were even alive. It was you. It's you. Always you."

Her own breath is loud and urgent. She could be in pain. Afraid. She's just overwhelmed. He groans and says her name. It's her. Caroline. It's her body writhing against his, her eyes staring speechless into his, overcome from the feeling of him moving into her. And above all things he's humbled by her hands in his. They feel so much more vulnerable, much smaller that he had ever imagined. They make him feel like she trusts him. He's never held Hayley's hands.

She gasps and she can't stop and she sits back up now and tosses her head backwards as the heat builds inside her, her mouth open and shocked, moving against him. It's too fast now and she can't think of anything, all she knows is that she wants it, but not as bad as she_ needs _it and her next gasp comes out like a tortured moan.

It's coming and they're so fast and wild now, it's beyond urgency. All she thinks is to keep moving keep moving keep moving and all he can do is hold her and move with her rhythm, perfectly aligned like they've been made for this and it's happening, she's hot and it's everywhere, she can feel it there _somewhere_, she can reach it if they just _keep going, _and she closes her eyes, letting it happen, stopping searching for it. They just keep going, building blinding fire and calling for it with their low throaty moans . She can feel him on every side, filling her and she thinks she'd die if she stops moving onto him. The momentum builds and he meets her movement, thrusting into her because she's shaking so hard. The bed creaks angrily.

"Klaus" she cries out gently like a whisper and he can hear her and it's his name on her lips, her hands so tight they're at one with his, her legs shaking around his waist so violently they make the metal frame shake loudly and it's her, it's her, it's her. Her moans stop when it happens, eyes flying open and she takes it all in stunned, overwhelmed silence, the feeling forcing through her, stopping time, her mouth opens because it's there, it's everywhere, it's him. Her hands clutch his tighter and she holds him like he can save her. His breath shakes and hitches in her ear, the shocked euphoric moan following as his orgasm fills him and it matches hers and they writhe up, meeting each other, like they talked it out before, like they had some kind of a signal. It makes him wish she'd been born when he was alive so they wouldn't miss a moment apart.

Her breathing slows and she closes her eyes, just feeling his arms wrap around her back as he sits up, pulling her closer and he kisses her, sweetly now, on her shoulders, her chin, her lips. She's exhausted and she lets him. He strokes her face and drags his painters fingers through her short frantic hair. It feels like he's trying to claim her. Not in a possessive way. But she finally came to his city. She slept with him. 'Don't go again' his kisses almost say. 'I love you.' They say thank you too and they tell her how much he adores her. Those kisses say a lot of things. And she lets them. She wants them all.

But she's tired now and she wants to sleep so she climbs off him, slowly, so he leaves a gap where he was. Her breath is still laboured. It was good sex. She always thought it would be. But she couldn't even think straight. It was just about them. No one killed a thirteen year old. She wants him back but his arms capture her instead and kiss her hair. She supposes she'll have to go now. After all, she was only supposed to stay in a hotel in his city. She thought that was punishable enough. Sleeping in his house? Disgraceful! But sleeping with him? She has to leave.

Her head moves to look for her clothes but it makes her nose brush against his chest and she's reminded of his nearness like a train just hit. He face is so close, watching her. She doesn't want to leave now. His arms protect her, love her, promise her things she senses he's been waiting to promise her. She doesn't know if it's against the rules but she reaches up and kisses his jaw line once, very sweetly and it makes his cheeks dimple and smile. She tries to tell herself that by leaving in the night she'd give him so much more of a heartbreak when he woke up but really, she doesn't want to leave him now.

She takes a shower and fails to comprehend what she's just done. _Klaus Mikaelson_. She doesn't understand that she just slept with him. But there's no regret. She has no loose ends to regret it for. There's just him, waiting for her, in his spare room.

The toothbrush in its holder makes her smile and stare, an expression of a girl who's seeing the sun for the first time in a decade. It gives her hope, reassurance. She can't tell whether it's the image of a murderous villain spending three minutes removing plaque twice a day, or that it's a sign that Klaus Mikaelson actually cares about something in this world, even if it's just good dental hygiene, but nevertheless, it makes her not dread life anymore.

She hopes he's asleep when she walks back in so she can slide back into his arms unnoticed but he's lying quietly where he was, staring gently at her. His smile is like a child's, so pure, like the sun shone only for him. She puts back on her underwear and then very intently, reaches down to pick up his t-shirt and pulls it on. A thank you. An apology. Forgiveness. He understands.

He stares at her doing it, walking it in back toward the bed and now he's hit with the aftermath sleeping with her. He doesn't want her to leave.

She's still damp from the water and he likes it, he likes that she smells like his soap and he likes that she didn't ask to use his shower. She could have lived here. He lifts his arm so she can lie down again and pulls her in, closer than before because she looked unsure for a second, standing at the side of the bed like she didn't know the rules anymore. Even though it's her game. His hand on her skin feels like such contact should be impossible. His arm, wrapped around her waist. Last year, this reality would be far off train, a losing dream.

She falls asleep almost instantly and he takes full advantage of this by giving her dreams, of him, of New Orleans, of them. Enticing. Blackmail. He wants her to stay.

She goes in the morning of course. She's thankful he's asleep. No one could say he was an evil man if they saw him like that. She wants to kiss his cheek but she's afraid to wake him up. She considers giving him his shirt back but she wouldn't be so cruel. To wake up with her gone and his shirt left like she threw it all back in his face? She might leave but she'd do it nicely. She keeps his shirt and throws on her leggings and goes out into the five am air. It's still dark.

He knew she'd be gone when he woke up in the morning, and still he tries not to be disappointed. New Orleans doesn't seem as vibrant. He'd love to have the image of her sleeping in his bed to remember. No matter. He's had enough of her to remember all too well. He checks every crevice of the room however, trying to find a piece of her that she's left behind. He doesn't know if she'll be back anytime soon. He doesn't know if she'll be back at all. It's not until he sits at the kitchen table he sees something out of the ordinary - a page that was definitely not there the night before. He snatches it, feeling desperate.

It's a poorly drawn sketch, barely an outline and only recognisable as him from his closed eyes, sleeping in last night's bed. With a spark of excitement he realises that Caroline did it, sometime last night. His fingers curl at the sides, creasing it. _Her_ pen marks. She must have used his drawing pencils. He didn't tell her where they were. She could have lived here.

It's entitled too, 'The Destruction of The Communist Theory' with her signature scrawled lavishly in the corner and a single kiss, promising him everything, or saying goodbye, he doesn't know.


End file.
